


How Briar Lillies Thrive

by moosesal



Category: Fingersmith - Waters
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesal/pseuds/moosesal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up story about Maud and Sue's life after the conclusion of the novel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Briar Lillies Thrive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Basingstoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/gifts).



It's late fall now, coming on winter. The days are getting shorter, greyer, but life at Briar is lighter than I imagine it's ever been before. Having Sue here and having Uncle and his rules gone, has made all the difference. I wasn't sure at first how this would work, if this would work. I only knew that I wanted it. Wanted it so much I was afraid I couldn't have it. I was never really allowed anything I wanted before. Even the promise of what I wanted turned out to be nothing of the sort.

But Sue came to me. After everything that happened, she came back to Briar to find me. To findout if what she felt was real. And it's everything I ever dreamed. _She's_ everything I ever dreamed.

_The first time you pressed your hand to my bosom, your tongue to my lips... The first time you looked in my eyes, opened yourself to me completely... I felt my stomach drop, my heart pound hard against my chest, and my breath fall away. Such passion, such love, no one else has ever known. I am sure of it. How could they? I'm keeping it all for myself._

We walk through the park together in the mornings. Up to the cemetery to our mother's grave. Marianne Lilly. She's both our mother now, just as Mrs. Sucksby became in her final days. And as we visited one, we visit the other.

We love them both. And hate them both. But it is through their contract with each other that we became one in this unusual, but perfect, life together. Gentleman would probably sneer at me for such sentimentality. No doubt Uncle would as well. They'd both remind me of how horrible I once was with just one look.

But they're dead and Sue and I have a life together that neither man (or anyone else, if we're being honest) would ever have allowed. We are grateful.

_Man cannot possibly understand the love between a girl and her maid. There is a trust there, a tenderness. I love my maid in ways I could not with a man. My maid makes me wish to be her servant. She is soft and delicate. Innocent and sweet. Her kisses careful and tender. When I lay with her, when I touch her, she is not afraid. She welcomes me in her arms, in her heart, between her legs. Such relations between man and woman are different, harsher. Man takes. Woman gives. _

A few weeks after finding me here, Sue sent down to London for Dainty. She'd joined a gang of girls in Woolwich, but the invitation to come to Briar to be our maid was a far better offer than a life of street-thieving and being knocked around by John Vroom. She helps us dress and pins our hair in the morning, then works with William Inker and his wife to maintain the house. At night she slips in with the iron to warm our bed for us, but Sue and I see to each other's undressing. I think Dainty knows about us, though Sue insists such thoughts would never cross the girl’s mind. It doesn't matter though because whatever she thinks, she says nothing, only smiles and wishes us pleasant dreams.

_I press a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then suck a scarlet bruise to your flesh. It will turn purple by morning. A bruise only I will see when I dress you in finery before pinning your hair. You are my mistress and I adore you. I would paint your entire body with my kisses if I could._

It's a day like any other at Briar -- a walk through the park, a reading lesson for Sue, then writing for me. But this afternoon we received a treat; Mrs. Inker baked scones to go with a jar of boysenberry jam sent over from Mrs. Cream. The little old ladies love both Sue and me. And with Charles working for us again, Mrs. Cream can't help but check in on us all. The scones and jam are both delightful and hours later when I kiss Sue I catch a bit of jam at the corner of her mouth.

_As I move down your body, pressing kisses and nipping at your flesh, I taste salt from the heat of the day. Then when I again press lips to lips, I taste a sticky sweetness that I have come to love and to crave. A sweetness only I know. Far better than the finest chocolates, the moistest cakes, the freshest honey._

We've taken to having our dinner in the kitchen with the staff. What with me being raised a lady and feeling like one no longer, and Sue, the true lady, having been raised a fingersmith, neither of us has much need for the cold sterility of the formal dining room. Besides, in the kitchen we have the warmth of the fire and the comfort of companionship. We've become a mishmash family of sorts -- ladies and servants. After dinner, Sue and Charles ask me to read for them. Not from Uncle's books or the ones I'm writing, but tales of adventure and romance, epic poems, essays on nature. I find myself moved in ways I never was before. And seeing my passion reflected in my audience pleases me far more than reading to Mr. Hawtrey and Uncle ever did.

_I lay you down by the hearth and whisper words of desire against your lips. My fingers dance across your breast and over your stomach, moving down down down to slip between your legs. Your body opens for me, slick and hot and needy. I press against you, kiss you, swallow your breath as you gasp in pleasure and arch against my touch. Always pressing to me, never pushing away._

When Dainty came to us, she surprised Sue with an old friend -- Charley Wag. It was wonderful to see both of them light up at being reunited. He runs freely 'round the park all day, chasing rabbits and squirrels. At night he sleeps by the kitchen fire, eating morsels slipped beneath the dinner table by most everyone in the family (especially Mrs. Inker who delights in his appreciation of her gravy). With time his voice returns, but he only barks sweetly when playing fetch with Charles.

Sometimes I think Charley Wag's the happiest of us all. Then Sue and I slip off to bed at night and I know that in each other's arms we are happier than anyone else in the world could ever hope to be.


End file.
